“The pants. I prefer sleeping in the nude, but wasn’t sure when you’d be awake or when your customers would come, so I—”
“Come?” I squeak.
He cocks his head, brow furrowed. “Violet? Do you need to have a lie-down?”
A lie-down with you, in the nude, during which at least one of us comes, yes, what a lovely idea…
“Nope!” I rocket back to my feet and stack all the empty dishes onto the tray. “I’m Good. Great! Just… eager to get…” …away from you before I do something even stupider than the drunk-summoning that brought you here…“…to work. New day, new ideas, the tea doesn’t make itself!”
“Excellent.” Devlin rubs his hands together, grinning as if he’s hatching some nefarious scheme that will undoubtedly end with my utter embarrassment and/or arrest. “So, when do we open for business?”
“Wedon’t open.Iopen. You go upstairs and entertain yourself in my apartment—quietly—whilst devising marketing plans. And we’re moving your sleeping quarters up there, too.”
“So we’re co-habitating now? Isn’t that a bit forward?”
“We’re putting you on the sofa sleeper to avoid any potential customer run-ins. And before you say a word, yes, youwillbe wearing pants.” I lift the tea tray, grateful to have something in my hands. Hands that might otherwise fondle those abs. “Any questions?”
“Just one.” He folds his arms over his chest, blocking my view. “Have you always been this boring?”
“Have you always been this obnoxious?”
“Hmm.” He considers the question. Seriously considers it. “I seem to recall a bout of politeness that lasted about fifteen minutes in the seventeen hundreds. It didn’t suit me.”
“Well, it suits you today.” I nod toward the stairs that lead up to the apartment. “Make yourself at home, eat whatever you want, and stay out of trouble. After I close up shop tonight, we’ll order a pizza and put our heads together on a marketing strategy. Sound like a plan?”
“It sounds like a death sentence, but fear not.” He gathers up his bourbon bottles and grins, wicked and tempting and definitely not helping my south-of-the-border wildfire situation atall. “I’m sure I can findsomeway to amuse myself.”
Chapter Eleven
VIOLET
This morning’s rush is about as non-rushy as it was yesterday, the difference being that yesterday I was merely anxious with a chance of panic, and today I’m a wild storm of frayed nerves and fizzy insides who can barely hold a teacup without dropping it.
An hour until closing time, Mean Beans is still the hottest ticket in town, I’ve had less than a dozen customers, burned myself four times, misplaced all my mint and had to call Aunt Althea to bring some from the Three Sisters gardens, and somehow—defying all laws of physics—spilled chamomile flowers in myhair.
Also, Olivy keeps sending me texts that I can’t figure out how to answer because my phone keeps locking me out, and anyway, I don’t speak emoji.
So, given the humdinger of a day, I probably should’ve known something was up when I didn’t hear a peep from Devlin upstairs—not my television or the old record player, not the pitter-patter of two feral cats chasing dust motes, not even the creak of a floorboard on the old hardwoods above.
It’s not until Mayor Singh bustles in with a big smile and the energy of a proud mama bear that I realize there’s some serious Devil-induced trouble afoot.
“You’ve got quite a crowd back there!” She presses a hand to her chest, nearly breathless. “Oh, Violet. I justknewbusiness would pick up today! Sometimes you just have to wait out the storm, right?”
“Crowd?”
“I was worried there’d be a line out the door and I wouldn’t be able to get my daily dose! Which I’m in dire need of, by the way. Your brew did the trick on my sore throat yesterday, but now I’m so exhausted from all the budget presentations, I need a big shot of something lively. You wouldn’t believe these bean counters, Violet. I swear they schedule meetings just for an excuse to impress us all with their ability to do math on command. And Brandt Remington? Who in their right mind put that windbag in charge of the town financials…”
She chatters on animatedly about the budget stuff, but all I can think about is this mysterious back-door crowd.
I’ve just finished mixing the black tea, cocoa nibs, cayenne pepper, cinnamon, and ginger for her Kick in the Pants brew when the Six of Wands card appears in the cubby where I keep the cinnamon. In it, a man wearing a victory crown rides high atop his horse before a crowd of adoring onlookers.
Hoping she doesn’t notice my shaking hands, I hand over her tea. “Where did you say that crowd was, exactly?”
“Right out back. I walked past and figured you were handing out free samples. Maybe it’s just tourists—I thought I saw cameras, too.” She frowns as she slides a ten across the counter. “I’m sorry, Violet. I really thought it was for Kettle and Cauldron.”
“Not this time.” I collect her payment, my mind racing. Crowds? Cameras? There’s another building across the small parking lot behind us—a paint-your-own pottery studio called Glaze for Days—but they never seem all that busy. Other than that, there’s just my service entrance, and—
Oh, no.My apartment balcony.
